


Three Flowers in a Garden

by ViaLethe



Series: 3 Sentence Ficathon 2021 [12]
Category: The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: 3 Sentence Ficathon, 3 Sentence Fiction, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mild Smut, Multi, Outdoor Sex, Post-Canon, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: A collection of 3 sentence Secret Garden ficlets.1)Mary makes use of her selfishness to protect those she loves.2)There is a first time for all things.3)Dickon thinks they're all quite like the garden.4)Mary thinks they're like flower crowns, the beauty and the frame underneath.5)Colin thinks perhaps they've become one spirit.
Relationships: Colin Craven & Mary Lennox, Colin Craven/Mary Lennox/Dickon Sowerby
Series: 3 Sentence Ficathon 2021 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191875
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Three for Mary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2021 3 Sentence Ficathon on DW. Original prompts are included.

_**Prompt: The secret garden - Mary being like a discworld witch and weaponizing her selfishness into caring for Dickon and Colin her uncle and the garden** _

_A Witch of the Moors_

“You’re all _mine_ , don’t you see?” she tells Colin one day, after he’s been particularly peevish and difficult and tossed it in her face in an effort to drive her away - _you’re far more selfish than I could ever be, everyone knows it, so why are you even still here?_

“You belong to me,” she says, fierce and burning, her face growing hot with the passion she feels, welling up in a little ball of fire in her chest, “you and Dickon and the garden, and Ben Weatherstaff and your father and all of Misselthwaite too, and so I’ll never let anyone hurt any of you!”

“Not even you yourself,” she finishes, breathing out, throwing that burning passion wide like a net, covering the whole moor and everyone who lived there, her soul screaming to whatever may be there to hear: _They are Mine, and you will not harm them while I live._


	2. Three for the Lovers

_**Prompt: The Secret Garden, Colin, Mary, Dickon (+ or / any all), firsts** _

_You Will Learn to Surprise Me_

The first time a boy kisses her, it’s Colin, surprising her before the fire in his rooms, rain pattering on the windowpanes as her heart patters in her chest, all delicate fluttering and the delicious pressure of his mouth on hers.

The first time she kisses a boy, it’s Dickon on the moors, with a woolly lamb in her lap and his open face grinning and surprised at her boldness, quickly matching it with his own.

The first time she kisses them both, it’s in the garden, one after the other; wherever she turns, one is there to catch her, to keep her happy, to love her and leave her in perfect bliss.  


  


_**Prompt: Secret Garden, Colin +/ Mary +/Dickon (any, all, or none), To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower/Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.** _

_You Are My Joy_

“Thou’rt like the trees, he and thee,” Dickon tells her, lifting his chin to the glory of the old tree in the garden’s corner, covered in a profusion of roses, budding out into full bloom, making of it a bower; Mary blushes to think of what she and Colin had been doing there when he’d arrived. “Colin now, he’s the flowers,” Dickon says, watching her carefully, the light dancing in his hair, bringing out the red, just as it brings forth the gold in her own, “a thing of beauty to see, but nowt much without the base to hold him steady - and that’s for thee to do.”

“And you?” she asks, smiling up at his sun-haloed face; though she already suspects she knows what he’ll say, and he confirms it when he says, “Ah, me, I’m like the wee birds and squirrels and other wild things as creep in to visit now and then, to claim their share of that beauty,” before kissing her softly, square on the mouth.  


  


_**Prompt: The secret garden - Mary/Colin/Dickon or Mary &Colin&Dickon + flower crowns** _

_Let Your Dreams Run Free_

They are all, Mary thinks as she plaits, very much like the flowers themselves - Dickon is the stems, the solid, reliable base of the entire structure, utterly and absolutely necessary to the integrity of the whole; Mary herself like the leaves, the thorns, the pollen that dusts her fingers green and yellow as she works - subtle, perhaps, but the details without which the whole would suffer and seem empty somehow, artificial, without heart; and Colin, of course, is the bright blossoms, bold and delicate and beautiful.

“It takes the three of us to make a whole, doesn’t it,” she muses, crowning her men, laughing at the way Colin tips his face up to the sun, merely faux-haughty now; at the way Dickon’s crown inevitably slips to one side, increasing his puckish aura.

“It always has,” Colin says, hot against her ear as his hands do the work of freeing her from the confines of her dress, as Dickon’s nimble fingers go to work on Colin’s trousers - or perhaps it is the other way around; she no longer knows, the three of them tumbled together in the long grass, entwined until she can no longer tell where one begins and another ends.  


  


_**Prompt: Secret Garden, Colin/Mary/Dickon (any/all), My house of stone, your ivy grows / And now I'm covered in you** _

_Putting Roots in My Dreamland_

“I wonder,” Colin says, in that dreamy voice that means he is about to say something that Dickon will find very profound and she will find vaguely ridiculous, “if we are still individuals, or if we’ve become something more, some inseparable spirit joined among us three.”

“As we’re joined in body?” Mary asks archly, and sighs, tipping her head back to the sky, watching the bees flit on their pathways overhead; feeling the warm weight of Colin’s head, pillowed in her lap as he hums in quiet disapproval of her teasing; feeling Dickon’s fingers idly questing, stroking over the length of her ankle, keeping his own counsel.

“Perhaps not the three of us becoming one spirit, exactly,” she says slowly, as the bees weave their invisible pattern overhead, as the breeze stirs the ivy that twines its way up the walls, transforming their little bit of the earth, “but more like a new spirit entirely, that’s grown up and over us all, until we could never be untangled,” and this time, it’s Dickon who hums in approval, his hand tightening on her ankle, Colin who turns his head, pressing a kiss to her belly and grinning when she flushes; and she is content.


End file.
